Nefandous

Nefandous (pronounced nef-and-us or nef-fandus)

(1) Not to be spoken of (archaic).

(2) Unspeakable, appalling; abominable, shocking to reasonable senses (rare).

1630s: From the Latin nefandus (unmentionable, impious, heinous), the construct being ne- (the negative particle: “not”) + fandus (to be spoken), gerundive of fārī (to speak), from the primitive Indo-European root bha (to speak, tell, say).  Nefandous is an adjective.  Although not obviously a word needing an intensifier, the comparative is “more nefandous” and the superlative “most nefandous”.

Google's ngrams trace the use of words but because of the way the data is harvested, the numbers represented by the ngrams are not of necessity accurate but, over decades, probably are broadly indicative.  While the numbers do bounce around a bit, it would seen that in British English (lower chart), use of "nefandous" was not infrequent in the nineteenth century while the most recent spike was during the 1930s; while politically and financially a troubled decade, any suggestion of a causal link with use would be speculative.  In US English (upper chart) use appears also to have declined after the nineteenth century, the most recent spike in the use of "nefandous" coinciding with the 2016 presidential campaign; again, to suggest any link with Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021) or crooked Hillary Clinton (b 1947; US secretary of state 2009-2013) would be speculative.  With the 2024 election threatening to be a re-run of 2020 (something quite a few seem to think variously unspeakable, unthinkable or unmentionable), there may be another revival of the word.   

The extinct nineteenth century formations were the noun nefandousness and the adverb nefandously; as an expression of character, nefandousness briefly found uses but the adverb was just silly.  Both seem to have followed the example of nefariousness & nefariously which is etymologically distant although in meaning there’s some overlap, those labelled nefandous often associated with things nefarious (sinful, villainous, criminal, or wicked).  Dating from the late sixteenth century, nefarious was from the Latin nefārius (execrable, abominable), from nefās (that which is contrary to divine law, an impious deed, a sin, crime), the construct being ne- (the negative particle: “not”) + fās (the dictates of religion, divine law), related to the Latin forms Latin forms meaning “I speak, I say” (thus the link with nefandous) and cognate with the Ancient Greek φημί (phēmí) (I say).

Unspeakable, unthinkable, unmentionable

Although the word "nefarious" is now rare, the idea is often expressed in the term "unspeakable", used to describe anything from crimes against fashion to mass murderers.  There was also the use use of "unmentionable" as a euphemism for a lady's underwear (usually in the plural as "her (or my) unmentionables") and although sometimes cited as an example of prudery in Victorian England, the evidence of use at the time suggests it was often something jocular or ironic.  However, there was also the notion of "unspeakable" a piece of literal positive law.  In Asia Minor (near present-day Selcuk, Türkiye), in a sacred grove not far from the city of Ephesus, stood the Great Temple of Artemis (also known as the Temple of Diana), one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. During the evening of 21 July, 356 BC, Herostratus (also called Erostratus) of Ephesus saturated the timber and fabric furnishings of the temple with gallons of oil and when all was thoroughly soaked, he set fires in many places, inside and out.  Within minutes, as he had planned, the fire was uncontrollable and the temple doomed.  Coincidently, on the day the temple was razed, Alexander the Great (356-323 DC) was born.

St. Paul Preaching in Ephesus Before the Temple of Artemis (1885), by Adolf Pirsch (1858-1929).

Herostratus was apparently a wholly undistinguished and previously obscure citizen, different from others only in his desire to be famous and the lengths to which he was prepared to go to achieve that fame.  As shocked Ephesians rushed to the fire, Herostratus met them and proudly proclaimed his deed, telling them his name would for all eternity be remembered as the man who burned down the Great Temple of Artemis and razed one of the wonders of the world.  Herostratus was, as he expected, executed for his arson.  In an attempt to deny him the fame he craved, the Ephesians passed the damnatio memoriae law, making it a capital crime ever to speak of him or his deed.  However, it proved impossible to suppress the truth about such an event; the historian Theopompus (circa 380–circa 315 BC) relates the story in his Philippica and it later appears in the works of the historian Strabo (circa 64 BC–circa 24 AD).  His name thus became a metonym for someone who commits a criminal act in order to become noted.  Subsequent attempts to erase names from history by declaring them unspeakable (tried on a grand scale by comrade Stalin (1878-1953; Soviet leader 1924-1953) and the Kim dynasty in the DPRK (North Korea)) seem always to fail.

It's unfortunate history didn't unfold so Android and iOS were available in 356 BC so  Herostratus could have played Lindsay Lohan's The Price of Fame instead of turning to arson.  The game was said to be "a parody on celebrity culture and paparazzi" and enabled players to become world famous celebrities by creating an avatar which could "purchase outfits, accessories, toys and even pets".  Played well, he could have entered a virtual herostratisphere and the temple might stand today.  As Ms Lohan would understand, the tale of Herostratus reminds all that for everything one does, there's a price to be paid. 

Like many of the tales from antiquity, the story of destruction by arson is doubted.  Various conjectures have been offered, some of which doubt the technical possibility of what Herostratus is said to have done, some claiming it was a kind of inside job by the temple’s priests who had their own reasons for wanting a new building and even a reference to the writings of Aristotle which offers a lightning strike as the catalyst for the conflagration.  However, whatever did or didn’t happen in 356 BC, the word herostatic, to describe one who seeks fame at any cost, has endured, the attempt to make his name unspeakable as doomed as the temple.

Asymptote

Asymptote (pronounced as-im-toht)

(1) In mathematics, a straight line which a curve approaches arbitrarily closely as it extends to infinity; the limit of the curve; its tangent “at an imaginary representation of infinity”.

(2) By extension, figuratively, that which comes near to but never meets something else (used in philosophy, politics, conflict resolution etc).

1650–1660: From the Greek asýmptōtos (not falling together).  The Ancient Greek ἀσύμπτωτη (asúmptōtē) was the feminine of Apollonius Pergaeus' Ἀπολλώνιος ὁ Περγαῖος Apollṓnios ho Pergaîos (Apollonius of Perga (Apollonius Pergaeus (circa 240-190 BC)), an astronomer whose most noted contribution to mathematics were his equations exploring quadratic curves.  The construct of the Ancient Greek adjective ἀσύμπτωτος (asúmptōtos) (not falling together) was a- (not) + sýmptōtos (falling together (the construct being +‎ συν (-sym-) (together) + πτωτός (ptōtós) (falling; fallen inclined to fall), the construct being ptō- (a variant stem of píptein (to fall) (from the primitive Indo-European root pet (to rush; to fly)) + -tos (the verbid suffix).  The adjective asymptotic (having the characteristics of an asymptote) dates only from the 1970s.  Asymptote is a noun & verb, asymptotia & asymptoter are nouns, asymptotic & asymptotical are adjectives, asymptoted & asymptoting are verbs and asymptotically is an adverb; the noun plural is asymptotes.

Lines, curves & infinity

The noun asymptote describes a straight line continually approaching but never meeting a curve, even if extending to infinity.  This means that although the distance between line and curve may tend towards zero, it can never reach that point, which is hard to visualize but explained by the notion of the line only ever able to move half the distance required to achieve intersection.  At some point such a thing becomes impossible usefully to represent graphically and even exactly to define the asymptotic using integer mathematics would be unmanageable, thus the use of the infinity symbol (∞).

Horizontal (left), vertical (centre) and oblique asymptotes (right).

There are (1) horizontal asymptotes (as x goes to infinity (in either direction (ie also negative (-) infinity)), the curve approaches b which has a constant value), (2) vertical asymptotes (as x (from any direction) approaches c (which has a constant value), the curve proceeds towards infinity (or -infinity) and (3) oblique asymptotes (as x proceeds towards infinity (or -infinity), the curve goes towards a line y=mx+b (m is not 0 as that is a horizontal asymptote).

The logarithmic spiral and the asymptote.

Although usually depicted on a flat plane, a curve may intersect the asymptote an infinite amount of times.  A spiral with a radius is a logarithmic spiral, distinguished by the property of the angle between the tangent and the radius vector being constant (hence the more popular names “equiangular spiral” or “growth spiral”, the latter favored by laissez faire economists.  The shape appears often in the natural environment in objects and phenomenon as otherwise dissimilar as sea-shells, hurricanes and galaxies near (in cosmic terms) and far.  This diagram was posted on X (formerly known as Twitter) by Dr Cliff Pickover (@pickover) who writes the most elegant explanations which help draw the eye to the often otherwise hidden beauty of mathematics.

Zeno of Elea (Ζήνων ὁ Ἐλεᾱ́της (circa  490–430 BC)) was a Greek philosopher of the Eleatic school, an ever-shifting aggregation of pre-Socratic thinkers based in the lands around the old colony of Ἐλέα (Elea, in the present day southern Italian region of Campania, then called Magna Graecia).  Among his surviving thoughts were nine musings (now called Zeno's paradoxes) on the nature of reality, the details of which survived only in the writings of others which has led to some speculation perhaps not all came originally from the quill of Zeno.  Although most of the paradoxes revolve around the notion movement is illusory (and thus effortlessly & instantly resolved by every student in their first Philosophy 101 lecture), they are all less about physics than language and mathematics, the most intriguing of them one of the underlying structures of the argument about whether “now” does or can exist, the “ultras” of one faction asserting “now cannot exist” the other that “only now can exist”.  In that spirit, there’s much to suggest Zeno was aware of the absurdity of many of “his” paradoxes and created them as (1) tools of intellectual training for his students and (2) devices to illustrate how ridiculous can be the result if abstraction is pursued far beyond the possibilities of reality (ie not all arguments pursued to their “logical conclusion” produce a “logical” result).  One of Zeno’s paradoxes contains an explanation of why a curve might never reach a straight line, even if that line stretches to infinity: If the curve can at any time move closer to the line only by half the distance required to intersect, then the curve can only ever tend towards the line.  The two will never touch.

Christian von Wolff (circa 1740), mezzotint by Johann Jacob Haid (1704-1767).

The German philosopher Baron Christian von Wolff (1679-1754) was an author whose writings cover an extraordinary range in formal philosophy, metaphysics, ethics and mathematics and were it not for the way in which Immanuel Kant’s (1724-1804) work has tended to be an intellectual steamroller flattening the history of German Enlightenment rationality, he probably now be better remembered beyond the profession.

What most historians agree is the paradoxes were written to provide some framework supporting Parmenides' (Parmenides of Elea (Παρμενίδης ὁ Ἐλεάτης (circa 515-570 BC)) was a teacher of the younger Zeno) doctrine of monism (that all that exists is one and cannot be changed, separable only descriptively for purposes of explanation).  The word “monism” was coined by Christian von Wolff and first used in English in 1862; it was from the New Latin monismus, from the Ancient Greek μόνος (mónos) (alone).  Spending years contemplating things like monism may be one of the reasons why so many German philosophers went mad.  So the doctrine of monism is one of the oneness and unity of reality, despite the appearance of what seems a most diverse universe.  That “one-thingism” (that one of philosophy’s great contributions to language) attracted political thinkers along the spectrum but most appealed to those who hold there must be a single source of political authority, expressed frequently as the need for the church to be subordinate to the state or vice versa although the differences may be less apparent than defined: the systems imposed by the ayatollahs in the Islamic Republic of Iran and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) in the People’s Republic of China structurally more similar than divergent.  Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) once observed that while to political scientists fascism & communism seemed polar opposites, to many living under either the difference may have been something like comparing the North & South Poles, one frozen wilderness much the same as any other.  Arctic geographers would quibble over the details of that but his point was well-understood.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December 2011.

Because of the self-contained, internal beauty, Monism has attracted long attracted political philosophers with axes to grind.  According to Sir Isaiah Berlin (1909-1997), “value monism” holds there are discoverable, axiomatic ethical principles from which all ethical knowledge may be derived, that ethical reasoning is algorithmic and mechanical, and that it seeks permanent, “final solutions” (no historical baggage in the phrase) to all ethical conflicts.  Berlin had his agenda and that was to warn monism tends to support political despotism, rejecting Immanuel Kant’s (1724–1804) argument “asymptotic monism” is not merely compatible with liberty and liberal toleration but actually a prerequisite for these values.  Although the phrase “Kant’s asymptotic monism” appears often, the phrase was never in his writings and is an encapsulation used by later philosophers to describe positions identifiably Kantesque.  His own philosophy has often been called “a form of transcendental idealism” which holds that the mind plays an active role in shaping our experience of the world, one’s individual’s experience of things not a direct reflection of what is but a construct shaped by the categories and concepts one’s minds impose on one’s experience.  Implicit in Kant is there is certainly one, ultimate, objective reality but experience of reality is limited and shaped by one’s cognitive capacities: because one’s experience of reality is always incomplete and imperfect, it can only ever approach a complete understanding of reality.  One’s cognitive capacities might improve but can only ever tend toward and never attain perfection.  Reality is the asymptote, one’s cognitive capacity the curve.

Plangent

Plangent (pronounced plan-juhnt)

(1) Resounding loudly with an expressively plaintive sound (associated especially with the chiming of bells).

(2) Any loud, reverberating sound (now rare and probably obsolete).

(3) Mournful music (regardless of volume).

(4) By extension, in literature and poetry, text which is plaintive, mournful, a lament etc (now used loosely).

(5) By extension, in casual use, a state of mind somewhat short of melancholy.

(6) Beating, dashing, as in the action of breaking waves (obsolete except (rarely) as a literary or poetic device).

1822: From the Latin verb plangent- (stem of plangēns), the present participle of plangere (to beat (in sorrow more than anger)) and third-person plural future active indicative of plangō (I beat (my breast); I lament), from the primitive Indo-European root plak- (to strike).  The origin of the idea was in the “breast-beating” a demonstrable form of grief noted by anthropologists in cultures far removed from European contact so apparently something which evolved independently and possibly inherited from our more distant ancestor species.  Plangent is an adjective, plangency is a noun and plangently is an adverb; the noun plural is plagencies.

Plangent was adopted in English to mean “a loud sound which echoes and is suggestive of a quality of mournfulness”.  It was originally most associated with the bells sounded during funerals or memorial ceremonies.  By the mid-late nineteenth century additional layers of meaning had been absorbed, notably (1) sorrowful or somber music and, (2) prose or poetic verse evocative of such feelings.  So it was linguistic mission creep rather than a meaning shift that saw “plangent” a word to use of sad songs and maudlin poetry.  In the technical sense, the original meaning still resonates; the “haunting peal of a church bell” can be called plangent and a poem which as text on the page may seem emotionless can be rendered startlingly plangent, if spoken in a certain tone and with a feeling for the pause.  In the jargon of some military bands, “the plangent” remains the instruction for the use of percussion to produce the slow, continuous and atonal beat used for funeral marches or somber commemorative ceremonies and this recalls the original use in English: “beating with a loud sound”, from the Latin plangere, (to strike or beat), the idea in antiquity an allusion to the “beating of the breast” associated with grief.  From this developed the general sense of “lament” which has survived and flourished.  The adjectival sense of anything “loud and resounding” is probably obsolete.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December 2011.

Suffering ranging from mild displeasure to dark despair being clearly an inescapable part of the human condition, the synonyms of plangent are legion, the choice dictated by the precise nuance one wishes to capture, the forms including: aching, agonized, anguished, bemoaning, bewailing, bitter, deploring, doleful, dolorous, funereal, grieving, heartbroken, lamentable, longing, lugubrious, mournful, plaintive, regretful, rueful, sorrowful, sorry, wailing, weeping & woeful.  Take your pick.

Long Distance II by Tony Harrison (b 1937)

 Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.
 
You couldn't just drop in.  You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.
 
He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.
 
I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call.

Shortly before he died, the poet Stephen Spender (1909–1995) wrote that Tony Harrison’s series of elegies for his parents “...was the sort of poetry for which I've been waiting my whole life.”

Algorithm

Algorithm (pronounced al-guh-rith-um)

(1) A set of rules for solving a problem in a finite number of steps.

(2) In computing, a finite set of unambiguous instructions performed in a prescribed sequence to achieve a goal, especially a mathematical rule or procedure used to compute a desired result.

(3) In mathematics and formal logic, a recursive procedure whereby an infinite sequence of terms can be generated.

1690s: From the Middle English algorisme & augrym, from the Anglo-Norman algorisme & augrimfrom, from the French algorithme, re-fashioned (under mistaken connection with Greek αριθμός (arithmos) (number)) from the Old French algorisme (the Arabic numeral system) from the Medieval Latin algorismus, a (not untypical) mangled transliteration of the Arabic ⁧الخَوَارِزْمِيّ⁩ (al-ḵawārizmiyy), the nisba (the part of an Arabic name consisting a derivational adjective) of the ninth century Persian mathematician Muḥammad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārizmī and a toponymic name meaning “person from Chorasmia” (native of Khwarazm (modern Khiva in Uzbekistan)).  It was Muḥammad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārizmī works which introduced to the West some sophisticated mathematics (including algebra). The earlier form in Middle English was the thirteenth century algorism from the Old French and in English, it was first used in about 1230 and then by the English poet Geoffrey Chaucer (circa 1344-1400) in 1391.  English adopted the French term, but it wasn't until the late nineteenth century that algorithm began to assume its modern sense.  Before that, by 1799, the adjective algorithmic (the construct being algorithm + -ic) was in use and the first use in reference to symbolic rules or language dates from 1881.  The suffix -ic was from the Middle English -ik, from the Old French -ique, from the Latin -icus, from the primitive Indo-European -kos & -ḱos, formed with the i-stem suffix -i- and the adjectival suffix -kos & -ḱos.  The form existed also in the Ancient Greek as -ικός (-ikós), in Sanskrit as -इक (-ika) and the Old Church Slavonic as -ъкъ (-ŭkŭ); A doublet of -y.  In European languages, adding -kos to noun stems carried the meaning "characteristic of, like, typical, pertaining to" while on adjectival stems it acted emphatically; in English it's always been used to form adjectives from nouns with the meaning “of or pertaining to”.  A precise technical use exists in physical chemistry where it's used to denote certain chemical compounds in which a specified chemical element has a higher oxidation number than in the equivalent compound whose name ends in the suffix -ous; (eg sulphuric acid (H₂SO₄) has more oxygen atoms per molecule than sulphurous acid (H₂SO₃).  The noun algorism, from the Old French algorisme was an early alternative form of algorithm; algorismic was a related form.  The meaning broadened to any method of computation and from the mid twentieth century became especially associated with computer programming to the point where, in general use, this link is often thought exclusive.  The spelling algorism has been obsolete since the 1920s.  Algorithm, algorithmist, algorithmizability, algorithmocracy, algorithmization & algorithmics are nouns, algorithmize is a verb, algorithmic & algorithmizable are adjectives and algorithmically is an adverb; the noun plural is algorithms.

Babylonian and later algorithms

An early Babylonian algorithm in clay.

Although there is evidence multiplication algorithms existed in Egypt (circa 1700-2000 BC), a handful of Babylonian clay tablets dating from circa 1800-1600 BC are the oldest yet found and thus the world's first known algorithm.  The calculations described on the tablets are not solutions to specific individual problems but a collection of general procedures for solving whole classes of problems.  Translators consider them best understood as an early form of instruction manual.  When translated, one tablet was found to include the still familiar “This is the procedure”, a phrase the essence of every algorithm.  There must have been many such tablets but there's a low survival rate of stuff from 40 centuries ago not regarded as valuable.

So associated with computer code has the word "algorithm" become that it's likely a goodly number of those hearing it assume this was its origin and any instance of use happens in software.  The use in this context, while frequent, is not exclusive but the general perception might be it's just that.  It remains technically correct that almost any set of procedural instructions can be dubbed an algorithm but given the pattern of use from the mid-twentieth century, to do so would likely mislead or confuse confuse many who might assume they were being asked to write the source code for software.  Of course, the sudden arrival of mass-market generative AI (artificial intelligence) has meant anyone can, in conversational (though hopefully unambiguous) text, ask their tame AI bot to produce an algorithm in the syntax of the desired coding language.  That is passing an algorithm (using the structures of one language) to a machine which interprets the text and converts it to language in another structure, something programmers have for decades been doing for their clients.

A much-distributed general purpose algorithm (really more of a flow-chart) which seems so universal it can be used by mechanics, programmers, lawyers, physicians, plumbers, carpet layers, concreting contractors and just about anyone whose profession is object or task-oriented.   

The AI bots have proved especially adept at such tasks.  While a question such as: "What were the immediate implications for Spain of the formation of the Holy Alliance?" produces varied results from generative AI which seem to range from the workmanlike to the inventive, when asked to produce computer code the results seem usually to be in accord with a literal interpretation of the request.  That shouldn't be unexpected; a discussion of early nineteenth century politics in the Iberian Peninsular is by its nature going to to be discursive while the response to a request for code to locate instances of split infinitives in a text file is likely to vary little between AI models.  Computer languages of course impose a structure where syntax needs exactly to conform to defined parameters (even the most basic of the breed such as that PC/MS-DOS used for batch files was intolerant of a single missing or mis-placed character) whereas something like the instructions to make a cup of tea (which is an algorithm even if not commonly thought of as one) greatly can vary in form even though the steps and end results can be the same.

An example of a "how to make a cup of tea" algorithm.  This is written for a human and thus contains many assumptions of knowledge; one written for a humanoid robot would be much longer and include steps such as "turn cold tap clockwise" and "open refrigerator door".

The so-called “rise of the algorithm” is something that has attracted much comment since social media gained critical mass; prior to that algorithms had been used increasingly in all sorts of places but it was the particular intimacy social media engenders which meant awareness increased and perceptions changed.  The new popularity of the word encouraged the coining of derived forms, some of which were originally (at least to some degree) humorous but beneath the jocularity, many discovered the odd truth.  An algorithmocracy describes a “rule by algorithms”, a critique in political science which discusses the implications of political decisions are being made by algorithms, something which in theory would make representative and responsible government not so much obsolete as unnecessary.  Elements of this have been identified in the machinery of government such as the “Robodebt” scandal in Australia in which one or more algorithms were used to raise and pursue what were alleged to be debts incurred by recipients of government transfer payments.  Despite those in charge of the scheme and relevant cabinet ministers being informed the algorithm was flawed and there had been suicides among those wrongly accused, the politicians did nothing to intervene until forced by various legal actions.  While defending Robodebt, the politicians found it very handy essentially to disavow connection with the processes which were attributed to the algorithm.

The feeds generated by Instagram, Facebook, X (formerly known as Twitter) and such are also sometimes described as algorithmocracies in that it’s the algorithm which determines what content is directed to which user.  Activists have raised concerns about the way the social media algorithms operate, creating “feedback loops” whereby feeds become increasingly narrow and one-sided in focus, acting only to reinforce opinions rather than inform.  In fairness, that wasn’t the purpose of the design which was simply to keep the user engaged, thereby allowing the platform to harvest more the product (the user’s attention) they sell to consumers (the advertisers).  Everything else is an unintended consequence and an industry joke was the word “algorithm” was used by tech company CEOs when they didn’t wish to admit the truth.  A general awareness of that now exists but filter bubbles won’t be going away but what it did produce were the words algorithmophobe (someone unhappy or resentful about the impact of algorithms in their life) and algorithmophile (which technically should mean “a devotee or admirer of algorithms” but is usually applied in the sense of “someone indifferent to or uninterested in the operations of algorithms”, the latter represented by the great mass of consumers digitally bludgeoned into a state of acquiescent insensibility.

Some of the products are fighting back: The Algorithm: How AI Decides Who Gets Hired, Monitored, Promoted, and Fired and Why We Need to Fight Back Now (2024) by  by Hilke Schellmann, pp 336, Hachette Books (ISBN-13: 978-1805260981).

Among nerds, there are also fine distinctions.  There are subalgorithms (sub-algorithm seems not a thing) which is a (potentially stand-alone) algorithm within a larger one, a concept familiar in many programming languages as a “sub-routine” although distinct from a remote procedure call (RPC) which is a subroutine being executed in a different address space.  The polyalgorithm (again hyphens just not cool) is a set of two or more algorithms (or subalgorithms) with instructions for choosing which in some way integrated.  A very nerdy dispute does exist within mathematics and computer science around whether an algorithm, at the definitional level, really does need to be restricted to a finite number of steps.  The argument can eventually extend to the very possibility of infinity (or types of infinity according to some) so it really is the preserve of nerds.  In real-world application, a program is an algorithm only if (even eventually), it stops; it need not have a middle but must have a beginning and an end.

There is also the mysterious pseudoalgorithm, something les suspicious than it may first appear.  Pseudoalgorithms exist usually for didactic purposes and will usually interpolate (sometime large) fragments of a real algorithm bit it may be in a syntax which is not specific to a particular (or any) programming language, the purpose being illustrative and explanatory.  Intended to be read by humans rather than a machine, all a pseudoalgorithm has to achieve is clarity in imparting information, the algorithmic component there only to illustrate something conceptual rather than be literally executable.  The pseudoalgorithm model is common in universities and textbooks and can be simplified because millions of years of evolution mean humans can do their own error correction on the fly.

Of the algorithmic

The Netflix algorithm in action: Lindsay Lohan (with body-double) during filming of Irish Wish (2024).  The car is a Triumph TR4 (1961-1967), one of the early versions with a live rear axle, a detail probably of no significance in the plot-line.

The adjective algorithmic has also emerged as an encapsulated criticism, applied to everything from restaurant menus, coffee shop décor, choices of typefaces and background music.  An entire ecosystem (Instagram et al) has been suggested as the reason for this multi-culture standardization in which a certain “look, sound or feel” becomes “commoditised by acclamation” as the “standard model” of whatever is being discussed.  That critique has by some been dismissed as something reflective of the exclusivity of the pattern of consumption by those who form theories about what seem not very important matters; it’s just they only go to the best coffee shops in the nicest parts of town.  In popular culture though the effect of the algorithmic is widespread, entrenched and well-understood and already the AI bots are using algorithms to write music will be popular, needing (for now) only human performers.  Some algorithms have become well-known such as the “Netflix algorithm” which presumably doesn’t exist as a conventional algorithm might but is understood as the sets of conventions, plotlines, casts and themes which producers know will have the greatest appeal to the platform.  The idea is nothing new; for decades hopeful authors who sent manuscripts to Mills & Boon would receive one of the more gentle rejection slips, telling them their work was very good but “not a Mills & Boon book”.  To help, the letter would include a brochure which was essentially a “how to write a Mills & Boon book” guide and it included a summary of the acceptable plot lines of which there were at one point reputedly some two dozen.  The “Netflix algorithm” was referenced when Falling for Christmas, the first fruits of Lindsay Lohan’s three film deal with the platform was released in 2022.  It was an example of followed a blending of several genres (redemption, Christmas movie, happy ending etc) and the upcoming second film (Irish Wish)  is of the “…always a bridesmaid, never a bride — unless, of course, your best friend gets engaged to the love of your life, you make a spontaneous wish for true love, and then magically wake up as the bride-to-be.” school; plenty of familiar elements there so it’ll be interesting to see if the algorithm was well-tuned.

Math of the elliptic curve: the Cox–Zucker machine can help.

Some algorithms have become famous and others can be said even to have attained a degree of infamy, notably those used by the search engines, social media platforms and such, the Google and TikTok algorithms much debated by those concerned by their consequences.  There is though an algorithm remembered as a footnote in the history of linguistic oddities and that is the Cox–Zucker machine, published in 1979 by Dr David Cox (b 1948) and Dr Steven Zucker (1949–2019).  The Cox–Zucker machine (which may be called the CZM in polite company) is used in arithmetic geometry and provides a solution to one of the many arcane questions which only those in the field understand but the title of the paper in which it first appeared (Intersection numbers of sections of elliptic surfaces) gives something of a hint.  Apparently it wasn’t formerly dubbed the Cox–Zucker machine until 1984 but, impressed by the phonetic possibilities, the pair had been planning joint publication of something as long ago as 1970 and undergraduate humor can’t be blamed because they met as graduate students at Princeton University.  The convention in academic publishing is for authors’ surnames to appear in alphabetical order and the temptation proved irresistible.

Fuselage

Fuselage pronounced fyoo-suh-lahzh, fyoo-suh-lij, fyoo-zuh-lahzh or fyoo-suh-lahzh)

(1) In aeronautical design, the complete central structure of an airplane, to which are attached the wings (or rotors), tail and other stabilizing fins or surfaces (engines sometimes also directly attached or enclosed).  It is inside the fuselage where the crew, passengers, cargo and most internals systems are located.

(2) In design, a style which borrows from or alludes to the elements used in aircraft fuselages.

(3) By extension, the main body of an aerospace vehicle

1909 (In English): From the French fuselage, the construct being fusel(é) (spindle-shaped), from fuseler (to shape like a spindle), from the Old French fus or fuseau (spindle), from the Latin fusus (spindle) + -age.  The French suffix -age was from the Middle & Old French -age, from the Latin -āticum, (greatly) extended from words like rivage and voyage.  It was used usually to form nouns with the sense of (1) "action or result of Xing" or (more rarely), "action related to X" or (2) "state of being (a or an) X".  A less common use was the formation of collective nouns.  Historically, there were many applications (family relationships, locations et al) but use has long tended to be restricted to the sense of "action of Xing".  Many older terms now have little to no connection with their most common modern uses, something particularly notable of those descended from actual Latin words (fromage, voyage et al).  In English, the suffix -age was from the Middle English -age, from the Old French -age, from the Latin -āticum.  Cognates include the French -age, the Italian -aggio, the Portuguese -agem, the Spanish -aje & Romanian -aj.  It was used to form nouns (1) with the sense of collection or appurtenance, (2) indicating a process, action, or a result, (3) of a state or relationship, (4) indicating a place, (5) indicating a charge, toll, or fee, (6) indicating a rate & (7) of a unit of measure.  Fuselage is a noun & adjective; the noun plural is fuselages.

Many languages also borrowed fuselage but there were sometimes variations in spelling including in Catalan (fuselatge), Portuguese (fuselagem), Spanish (fuselaje), Russian (fjuzeljáž (фюзеля́ж)), Kazakh (füzeläj (фюзеляж)) and Ukrainian (fjuzeljáž (фюзеля́ж)).  It’s not clear when “fuselage” was first used in English, the earliest known reference dating from 1909 but it’s not improbable the word had earlier been in oral use.  The alternative was presumably “hull” (the body or frame of shop, boat or other such vessel).  Hull was from the Middle English hul, hulle & holle (seed covering, hull of a ship), from the Old English hulu (seed covering), from the Proto-Germanic hul- (and related to the Dutch hul (hood) and the German Hülle & Hülse (cover, veil)), and may have been from either the primitive Indo-European forms ḱel- (to cover, hide) or kal- (hard).  Hull came into wide use in aircraft design when “flying boats” were developed.

Flying boats: Short S.25 Sunderland (1938-1946) (left) and Dornier Do X (1929-1932) (right). 

Most aeroplanes have fuselages; flying boats have hulls, a tribute to the nautical part of their hybrid origin.  Commercially, flying boats were widely used during the inter-war years because of their range and, needing only a suitable body of water (sea, lake, river), their ability to operate in regions without suitable aerodromes.  A vital military machine during World War II (1939-1945), the advances in aircraft design during that conflict, coupled with the proliferation of airstrip construction able to be re-purposed for civil use doomed them for all but some specialist uses.  Quickly they almost vanished from European and (most) North American skies and waterways, enduring in the Far East only until infrastructure there too was improved.

The fuselage can be optional: Dunne D.5 (1908) (left), Northrop YB-49 prototype (1947) (centre) and Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit (1989) (right).

In the early days of aviation, before even an airplane had flown the English Channel, designers had been intrigued when their slide-rule calculations suggested the optimal shape of a flying machine was a "flying wing" with no conventional fuselage and certainly no tail-plane apparatus.  Tests of scale models in primitive wind tunnels proved the math was substantially correct and proof of concept tests using an unpowered glider proved inconclusive, it being clear only a powered flight would demonstrate if such a design could achieve stable flight.  When tested, the designer admitted an early, under-powered, version was "more a hopper than a flyer" but when fitted with more powerful engines, the "flying wings" proved remarkably stable.  However, more conventional designs proved more suitable for military use and that, increasingly was where the source of funding was to be found.  Despite that, the idea continued to fascinate designers and a flying wing was one of the extraordinary range of experimental aircraft under development in Nazi Germany during World War II, most of which never made any contribution to the Luftwaffe's war effort.  In the US, Northrop built both propeller and jet-powered prototypes in the 1940s and after early difficulties, a stable platform emerged although, like most designs, it both offered advantages and imposed restrictions but the whole project was cancelled; ever since some have argued this was due to political influence while others claim the flaws in the concept were so fundamental they couldn't be fixed.  The Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit (in service with the US Air Force (USAF) until at least 2034) is a modified version of a flying wing in that its really a variation of a delta with an integrated fuselage.

Ascending the stairs: Lindsay Lohan entering a fuselage, Mykonos, Greece, August 2016.

In the early days of aviation during the twentieth century’s first decade, French engineers and inventors were the most innovative on the planet and this is reflected in the world-wide adoption of many French terms for some of the bits and pieces which continue to be used.  English, rarely inclined to create a new word if there was a manageable one in some other language which could be absorbed (“borrowed” still the term etymologists, strangely perhaps, prefer) and the French words which formed the basis of the early lexicon of aviation are a particular example of technological determinism in language.  Other orthodox terms in aviation include:

Aileron: A hinged flight-control surface usually attached to the trailing edge of each wing and used to change the roll (ie cause fuselage to begin rotation).  Although the word “flaps” is commonly used of ailerons, the flaps are usually positioned closer to the fuselage and are used to increase or reduce lift & drag.  The flap-like devices mounted on the trailing edges of the vertical stabilizers (somewhere in the tail-section) are properly called “elevators”.  Aileron was a diminutive of aile (wing) and before powered flight (flying machines) had been used in ornithology to refer to the extremities of a bird's wings used to control their flight.  There is an entry in a French-English dictionary dating from 1877 (with the lead meaning: “small wing”) and in the context of the language of aviation, the earliest known use in entry in French technical literature is from 1908.

Empennage: The tail assembly of an aircraft, including the horizontal and vertical stabilizers, elevators, and rudder. Empennage was from the French empenner (to feather an arrow).

Chassis: This was the original term used in English to describe the framework of an aircraft but soon was replaced by "frame, structure etc"), presumably because of the association with the heavy steel constructions used in cars and trucks, things far removed from the lightweight designs needed in the air.  Chassis was from the French chassis (frame, supporting structure), from châsse (reliquary; coffin), from the Latin capsa (case).

Concours d'Elegance: Not strictly an aviation term and most associated with affairs like those in Pebble Beach where rows of vintage Bentleys, Ferraris and such (the latter always in a much better state of finish than when they left the factory) are judged for their closeness to perfection.  Although not strictly a term from aviation, there are such events for old aircraft.  Concours d'Elegance was from the French concours d'élégance (competition of elegance).

Pilot: Pilot was from the Middle French pilot & pillot, from the Italian pilota & piloto, (pedotta, pedot & pedotto the older forms), the pil- element probably influenced by pileggiare (to sail, navigate), ultimately from the unattested Byzantine Greek *πηδώτης (pēdṓtēs) (helmsman), from the Ancient Greek πηδόν (pēdón) (blade of an oar, oar) (the the Ancient and Modern Greek πηδάλιον (pēdálion) (rudder).  Familiar from nautical use, pilot was a straight borrowing for the person fulfilling the same function in the air.  The construct of pilotage was pilot + -age.

Canard: A type of aircraft configuration where the tail-plane is ahead of the main lifting surfaces.  In aviation, a canard is either (1) a type of aircraft in which the primary horizontal control and stabilization surfaces are in front of the main wing or (2) a horizontal control and stabilization surface located in front of the main wing of an aircraft (a fore-plane).  In just about any form of engineering involving movement and fluid dynamics (air, plasma, water etc), a canard is a small, wing-like structure used usually as a stabilizing device.  Canard was from the French canard (duck, hoax) and in English as “a canard”, is still used in that sense to mean “a false or misleading report or story, especially if deliberately so”.

The Fuselage Chryslers, 1968-1973

1969 Imperial LeBaron, four-door hardtop.

The “fuselage” Chryslers were released late in 1968 for the 1969 model year and, as a class, remain the largest regular production cars ever made by the US industry.  In the catalogue between 1968-1973, by the end of their run the Imperial was built on a 127 inch (3226 mm) wheelbase, was 235 ½ (5981 mm) inches in length and almost 80 (2022 mm) inches in width.  Big cars from Detroit were not uncommon in the 1960s (Buick in 1959 even naming their top-of-the-range model the Electra 225, a tribute to its 225 inch (5715 mm) length) but even by those standards the fuselage cars not only were vast but the bulbous shape (source of the “fuselage” tag) made them appear more excessive still; it wasn’t only for the big Chryslers the derisive “land yacht” was coined but the line exemplified the idea.  In fairness, the trend generally was “longer, heavier & fatter”, even once compact (by US standards) and agile machines like Ford’s Mustang and Thunderbird bloating with each update although the manufacturers were aware there was considerable public demand for something smaller and by the late 1960s, those in the pipelines were well-advanced.  However, demand for the full-sized cars remained strong and Chrysler decided their lines should be more full-sized than ever, thus the fuselage design.  There was at the time a bit of an aeronautical influence about and that was nothing new, jet aircraft and space rockets during the previous two decades having contributed many of the motifs which appeared on US cars.  During the development cycle for the fuselage cars, Chrysler were well-acquainted with the appearance of the Boeing 747, sketches circulating for some three years before its first public appearance in September 1968, coincidently just days after the Chrysler’s debuted.  In its appearance, the bulging 747 was the same sort of departure from the earlier, slender 707 as the 1969 Chryslers were from their rectilinear predecessors.

1969 Chrysler 300 advertising.  In graphics & text, the "fuselage" motif was integral to the promotion; it was no mere nickname. 

In some ways the styling has aged surprisingly well because the basic lines are uncluttered and, particularly on the higher priced editions, there was some nice detailing but at the time, critics found the look peculiar and a deviance from the direction other manufacturers were travelling.  The sides were unusually deep and rounded (recalling, obviously, an airplane’s fuselage) with a beltline so high the glasshouse (the cabin area defined by the windows) was relatively shallow, something accentuated by the surrounding bulk.  The corporation’s full-sized platform (internally the “C-Body”), it was shared by the Plymouth, Dodge, Chrysler and Imperial lines, the latter a surprise to some because since 1955 when it had been established as a separate division, the Imperial had been built on a unique platform.  However, despite some encouraging results in the 1950s, Imperial never achieved the volume which would have justified another unique platform so the line was merged into mainstream development.

1969 Imperial LeBaron advertising.  The "messaging" in this advertisement remains obscure.

The debut season saw good sales for the fuselage cars (though still more than 10% down on the previous C-Body (1965-1968)) but demand dropped precipitously in the next three years although sales were in buoyant in 1973 when many manufacturers set records; it was the last good year for the “old” American economy and the swansong of the long post-war boom built on cheap, limitless energy and the uniquely advantageous position the country enjoyed after the war; something squandered by the mistakes of more than one administration.  It was certainly unfortunate timing for Chrysler that the first oil crisis should hit just weeks after they had replaced the fuselage cars with something mechanically similar but with clever styling tricks (even the engineers admitted it was “nips & tucks; smoke & mirrors”), something dimensionally similar appeared both smaller and more modern.  Underneath, as the fuselage line had been, was essentially a good product, Chrysler’s basic engineering always good and while the big machines would never behave like a Lotus Elan, on the road they were competent and in most aspects as good as or better than the competition.

The last of Harry S Truman's (1884–1972; US president 1945-1953) many cars was a 1972 Chrysler Newport, the entry-level model in Chrysler's Fuselage range (some Plymouth & Dodge models were cheaper still).  Purchased some six months before his death, the licence plate (5745) was a special request, a reference to 7 May, 1945 (VE Day (Victory in Europe).  Truman was in office on that day and the plate has since permanently been retired.

The first oil shock hit demand for the 1974 cars and the timing was bad for all points in the production and distribution chain.  Noting the favourable reviews, dealers had ordered large stocks to meet the expected demand but the Arab Oil Embargo meant sales of big cars collapsed and the Chryslers, with V8 engines between 318-440 cubic inches (5.2-7.2 litres) were as thirsty as any of their ilk and supplies of cars expected to be sold in days languished on dealer’s lots for months.  In response, Chrysler shut down two manufacturing plants while trying to increase production or imports of small, fuel-efficient vehicles.  Sales of the big cars in 1974 were barely half those of the previous year and the breakdown of those was a harbinger for the whole industry, the numbers disproportionately slanted towards the higher-priced lines, the entry-level models attracting interest mostly from fleet operators and law enforcement.  The days of the low-cost big sedans which appealed to those like Harry Truman who liked the virtues without the ostentation, were over.

1978 Chrysler New Yorker advertising.  Still obviously bulky, the 1974-1978 re-style toned down the fuselage look although the interiors in tufted leather or velor became increasingly baroque.  Publications like Road & Track (R&T) where the writers disapproved of anything so big (they thought everyone should drive a Lancia) sneered at the extravagant fit-out, dismissing it as "gingerbread" but it was a luxurious and isolating environment.  There were still many who liked that sort of thing, none of whom maintained subscriptions to R&T.

So the writing was on the wall and even by 1977 when the oil crisis faded from memory and it seemed buyers were ready again to buy big, Chrysler was left with its now 1974 range while press and public fawned over General Motors’ (GM) newly slimmed-down, taut looking, full-size cars, the style and dimensions of which were so obviously the future.  Tellingly, while radically reduced in weight and external measurements, on the inside, they were in most places as capacious as both their predecessors and the now antique Chryslers which were still just an update of the 1969 fuselage range.  With the coming of 1976, the corporation had accepted the inevitable and axed the Imperial brand, Chrysler's top-of-the-range New Yorker tarted-up with left-over Imperial trim to become the new flagship.  The end was close and in 1978 it came, that the last year of the big Chryslers released with such high expectations a decade before and when the line was retired, it took with it the once popular four-door hardtop body-style, other manufacturers having already retired their models.  Shockingly inefficient though they are, the few surviving land yachts have a small but devoted following who appreciate what remains a unique driving experience (one as enjoyable as a passenger) and it's unlikely anything like them will ever be built again.